


kink is a state of mind

by seimaisin



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, F/M, Hand Jobs, Improvised Sex Toys, Masturbation, Multi, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Pining, Sex Magic, Sex Toys, Spanking, Voyeurism, overhealing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27388030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seimaisin/pseuds/seimaisin
Summary: Kinktober turned into "several months of kink."Many kinks, many FFXIV characters, lots of sexy nonsense. That's it, that's the summary.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Stephanivien de Haillenarte/Joye, Urianger Augurelt/Warrior of Light, Warrior of Light/Estinien Wyrmblood
Comments: 2
Kudos: 74





	1. Hand Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> f!WoL/Estinien.

"Shhh, do you want them to wake up?"

Estinien's next groan is much softer, but no less fervent than the first. She grins, her grip tightening around his cock in reward. His lovely, large, thick cock, which she'd love to have inside of her again right now - but she's even worse than he is at keeping quiet, and if Ysale or Alphinaud wake up, neither of them will be getting off tonight. And honestly, she'll forgo her own orgasm as long as she gets to play with his … "very impressive lance," a phrase which earned her an eye roll and a spanking the last time they had an inn room to themselves. 

But impressive it is, she thinks as her hand begins to move, soft and hot in her grasp. "Tighter," Estinien hisses. She complies, and feels him tremble in response. Gods, this feels like wicked indulgence tonight, here under the stars, with their companions asleep just a few yalms away. They're ostensibly keeping watch; she's just hoping that no dragons are waiting to sneak up on their camp in the next ten minutes or so. Just give them this bit of time, she thinks. They deserve at least a few moments of indulgence.

In this case, indulgence feels like hot skin pulling underneath her palm, and the pleased shiver she gets when she sees the bit of glistening moisture forming at his tip, illuminated by the dying embers of the fire next to them. Honestly, he's just a gorgeous sight right now, the Azure Dragoon unarmored and disarmed - leaning back on his elbows, white hair cascading down to brush the ground, shadows playing across his sharp features. She squeezes, and his hips buck into her grip. "If you're going to thrust," she whispers, "you're going to tempt me to just ride you."

"And if you do," he whispers back, "you'll not only wake those two, but possibly Hraesvelgr all the way from here." From the way he stares at her, eyes dark and hot, she wonders if he'd even mind the attention right now. She almost doesn't mind the thought, to be honest.

But instead, she just tugs on his cock, quick and hard. "When we're done here," she murmurs, "we're going somewhere where you can make me scream for at least a full night."

His answering "at  _ least _ " is more of a growl, his deep voice breaking a bit as her pace picks up. The tone promises her all the things she wants right now - skin and heat and the feeling of this glorious thick cock slamming into her long and hard enough that it will ache to walk the next day. But until then, she'll make do with the feeling of him convulsing next to her, of the hot liquid that spills over her hand as he comes. It's enough right now to know that she's the one who can make him look like this, who can make the tension drain from his broad shoulders at least for these few minutes. In the midst of the current chaos, she'll take the small - or not so small, as the case may be - pleasures where she can find them. 


	2. Spanking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> f!WoL/Urianger. Implied voyeurism included, because there's no keeping out the pixies.

Nothing in Il Mheg is done without an audience. She understood this before she agreed to the arrangement, and honestly, once she's in this position, she barely notices the colorful fluttering in her peripheral vision. The pixies stay in the rafters, per agreement with Urianger. She suspects he answers questions for them later, when she's gone, but so long as it doesn't happen while she's around she doesn't much care.

Honestly, she'll agree to just about anything to experience this kind of blank-minded bliss at his hands.

She's naked, spread face-first across one of his tables, her hands bound to a leg on the far side. She can't see Urianger from this angle, but she can feel his movements behind her, hear his deep voice murmuring encouragement as her legs still and she steels herself for the next assault. The skin of her ass already burns in the cool air, the sensation a promise of what's yet to come. 

"Begin again," he says.

She takes a deep breath and finds her voice. It's a poem she's memorized this time, representing hours spent in the Greatwood, between other tasks. She was ambitious; the language is complex and slightly archaic, and she knows that when she makes a mistake, he will stop and make her start over. Perhaps that's part of why she chose it. The longer this lasts, the more time she can spend out of her own head.

He allows her to get through the first line before striking her. Sometimes he'll use a switch cut from one of the trees here, but today he's content to use his hand. If she's honest, this is her favorite, the feeling of his large, warm hand coming down on her ass in a steady rhythm. His voice may be gentle, but his blows are not - this is the third time she's had to start over, and his first blow is hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. But she makes herself concentrate on one line at a time - no, one word at a time, holding each sound in her mind before she speaks, clinging to the shape of it when the sweet pain would drive everything else from her mind. 

The farther she gets, the lower his blows land, darkening her upper thighs and soaking her cunt with her need. She's reduced to syllables, each one forced out of her in a high-pitched whine. They continue to form the right words, clearly, as he continues to spank her, giving low, wordless sounds that feel like praise. Just a few more lines now, she knows. Just a dozen or so syllables to remember, and then she'll get her reward -

\- not that this isn't reward in its own right, this gorgeous pain, the sheer weight of Urianger's attention focused entirely on her. Gods, sometimes she makes mistakes purposefully to prolong the game, to let herself be lost for just a while more.

But right now, her need is too great, and she spits out the last lines in a breathy rush. "Lovely," he growls. And then her legs are yanked farther apart, causing her to hiss as his fingers dig into reddened skin. But it's worth it, it's so very, very worth it to finally feel his thick cock plunging into her waiting heat. 

Pain and pleasure, such intertwined sensations. She thanks the Twelve almost daily for allowing her to find a man who knows how to administer both so deftly. For this, for  _ him _ , she can ignore the soft, alien giggles coming from the rafters. Let the pixies watch. Perhaps they'll learn something about true mortal happiness this way. 


	3. Voyeurism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> unrequited f!WoL/Crystal Exarch. warning for apparently non-consentual voyeurism.

He's been so good about using the mirror responsibly, for nearly a hundred years. The citizens of Norvrandt deserve their privacy, and they have no idea that the mysterious Crystal Exarch has the capability to spy on them at any time. He uses it only when he feels like he needs it, if he perceives a threat somewhere, or if there's knowledge to be had that might help in their ongoing fight against the sin eaters. There's nothing he needs to know otherwise, not enough to violate the privacy of the people who trust him.

All of this is still true. He reminds himself of it every time she says goodbye and returns to her room in the Pendants. He even manages restraint the first few times. And when he does finally give in to his curiosity, he tells himself it's for everyone's good - she's taken in the Light, but she doesn't give any of them much of an idea of whether she's suffering for it. Looking in on her when she's alone just gives him a better idea of whether she needs help. So much is riding on her health and safety, he tells himself. He must do what he must to assure she's coping properly.

If he lingers occasionally, watching her clean her armor or curl up on her bed with a book, it's just because he's tired, losing focus, not because he's cataloging the curve of her jaw, or noting the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. And besides, when he realizes he's doing it, he closes the image immediately. Usually. Most of the time.

He has thankfully managed to avoid looking in on her when she's less than fully clothed. Until now.

The thing is, they'd spent the afternoon alone together; he'd borrowed some books of Norvrandtian lore from Moren, knowing she'd expressed some interest in learning more about the history of Voeburt after her foray into Il Mheg. And maybe he'd gotten a little carried away with lecturing, given an apparently willing audience. But even if he'd talked too long, she'd given him the sweetest smile before she left, which made him feel much like the boy he once was, back when he first met her. The experience left him a little giddy, and it took him a while to tidy his study, so he's looking in on her a bit later than he otherwise would. As the mirror fires up, he even tells himself that he doesn't need to do this tonight, he already knows she seems to be just fine today. But, just a peek, he thinks, and then he'll let it go.

But the mirror's image flares to life, and he freezes. Because what he sees is his beautiful Warrior, spread out entirely naked on her bed. 

He should shut it down now, the rational part of him whispers. Wipe the image, leave this room, go for a walk outside to cool down and forget this ever happened. He really, really should.

One of her hands comes up to cup a lush breast; her fingers pinch the nipple, and she makes the most  _ amazing  _ sound. 

The Crystal Exarch has molded himself into a man of honor over the last century, a man with the strength to do whatever must be done, putting aside his own personal interests for the good of others. But fucking  _ hell _ , even he has his limits. 

Her hands slowly work her breasts in a way that tells him exactly how sensitive she is there. He can't help but memorize the spots where her breath catches, where she bites her lower lip and repeats her caress until her hips are writhing into the mattress. The movement turns his attention to her lower body, to the thick patch of curls at the juncture of her thighs, the way some of them already seem to glisten with a hint of moisture. She presses her thighs together for a long moment, then seems to purposely spread them apart, digging her heels into the mattress to anchor herself. Gods above, he wants nothing more in this moment than the chance to bury his face in the sweet wet core of her, to worship her as she so desperately deserves. 

When one of her hands trails down her belly in search of her cunt, he braces his own hands on the mirror frame to keep himself from reaching into his robes to relieve himself. There has to be a boundary here, even a terrible, poorly drawn boundary. 

There's no reason for him to study the movement of her fingers as carefully as he does; in no possible future will he have the opportunity to touch her in the way she's touching herself, so knowing what pleases her will only be a form of torture. But he studies all the same, watching the way she spreads her folds with two fingers, while a third circles the small nub at the apex of her sex. "Oh fuck," she whines aloud, her eyes drifting closed. "Fuck, please touch me." 

Who is she talking to? Who does she imagine there behind her eyelids - who is the person lucky enough to have her desire, to be invited to touch her even when they're not there? Knowing would only bring him pain, that much is for certain. Because there is no way she's imagining a man whose face she's never seen - not that she knows of, anyway - a man who is responsible for the danger she and her friends are currently experiencing. And there's no way she's imagining a boy she knew for a matter of weeks, one who followed her around like an overeager puppy before sacrificing himself for an unknown greater good. 

Whoever it is that she's pleading for, as her fingers concentrate on a very particular spot that makes her thighs shake, they are without a doubt the luckiest person that has ever lived on any of the fourteen known worlds. 

She gives the smallest, sweetest gasp, and then she seizes, her back arching off the mattress as her body stiffens with the ultimate pleasure. The image sears itself onto his very soul. It will torture him for what little time he has left, he knows - not a day will pass without remembering what she looks like right now, in this moment. He's an awful person for witnessing this, for drinking it in without her knowledge, but it will be his secret, one to add to all the rest he's been carrying. At least this one will warm him when his crystal limbs provide a phantom, aching reminder of what he's given up to be here. 

She collapses back onto the bed and struggles to even her breathing again. The smile she wears is so utterly satisfied, it takes his own breath away for a moment. "I wish you were here," she whispers, so softly he barely hears her.

Now, finally, he wipes the mirror clean. Whoever the object of her wish is, he only hopes they appreciate their luck half as much as he would in their shoes.

He's so hard that moving causes him pain, but he makes himself stand straight and head to the outer door -  _ not  _ to his own chambers. His robes will hide his shame, and the cool evening air should calm him. He doesn't deserve his own release tonight. He'll walk outside until he has a hold of his reactions, and then work the rest of the night. And he won't look in on her again after this, he promises himself. He swears it. 

By the time he's outside watching the still novel night sky, he even half believes it. 


	4. Sex Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> unrequited Stephanivien/Joye. Because the MCH quests are A+, y'all.

Stephanivien enjoys it when Joye comes to help in his workshop of her own accord - well, he enjoys it when she comes to see him, period, but her presence in his workshop speaks to a level of comfort that certainly wasn't there when she first started working with him at the manufactory. He's long since accepted that he likely won't ever get the level of comfort he'd truly like from her - she's far too shy (most of the time), and far too aware of their difference in social status. But as long as she's here, happy with her pistol and her involvement in the machinist's life, he'll be content. 

At least, so he tells himself. Until the day the subject is broached in an altogether unexpected way.

His workshop is naturally built for him; he's made some accommodations for his non-Elezen coworkers, but most of what he does here is not built for one of Joye's height. She's gotten used to climbing onto whatever is available to get some extra ilms - today, she clamors up onto a half-barrel shaped piece of machinery that is currently rumbling away next to his workbench, and after a moment's consideration, spreads her skirts underneath her and straddles the thing to be able to observe what he's showing her at his eye level. Stephanivien studiously ignores the sight of her legs spread wide - he's much saner that way, thank you very much - until the machine gives an unexpected rattle. Joye makes a strange high-pitched noise, somewhere between a giggle and a shriek, then goes beet red. At first, he's concerned. "Joye! Are you hurt?"

"Oh. Oh my. No, no, no, not - not at all," she rushes to assure him. The machine rumbles again - once again, the sound she makes is odd and breathy and has a very, very inappropriate effect on his own temperature. "I … should maybe get down from here," she says, but it takes a long moment for her to wiggle into a position where she can throw her far leg back over the barrel. Still concerned, Stephanivien moves to grab her by the waist and lift her back down to the floor. He's done so before, it shouldn't be a big deal, but she shudders when his hands lock around her. Back on the ground, her eyes remain straightforward, focused somewhere on his shirt for a long moment, before her chin tilts up so she can meet his gaze. "I'm sorry, my lord, thank you."

He ignores the honorific - it's a time-honored tradition of theirs to argue amiably about whether she should call him by name, at least here in private - in favor of cataloging the blazing pink of her cheeks, the way she unconsciously bites at her lower lip. "Nothing to apologize for," he says. "Are you sure you're okay? I honestly need to take a look at that, make sure it's not acting up."

"Oh yes, I'm fine, very … fine." And then she grins, showing a brief sign of the woman who brandishes her pistol like a lifelong hellion. "But if you should ever want to branch out into making … other sorts of machines, there are probably women who'd pay good gil to experience that." 

As he blinks, processing exactly what she means by that, Joye claps a hand over her mouth and goes even redder. "Oh. I - I should probably go, I shouldn't have …"

She makes a move as if to leave, but Stephanivien grabs her by the arm. He's suddenly very aware that she's all but trapped between him and the machine, so he lets go immediately, but she stays still now, looking up at him with wide eyes. The noises she made while straddling that blasted machine are going to haunt him, now that he's realized they were sounds of pleasure. It's been too long since he's heard a woman make those sounds - too long since he realized there was just one woman he'd want to hear. And now she stands before him, having been prompted to sound like  _ that  _ due to something he made, which isn't exactly what he wants, but right now, it's a start. When he finally speaks, he barely recognizes his own voice, as raspy as it comes out. "'Twas pleasurable, then?" 

Joye goes perfectly still for a long moment, but before he can properly curse himself, she nods. She's still blushing, but there's a twinkle in her eye when she says, "Honestly, if a woman could get a machine that felt like that, she wouldn't need a man for much." 

Stephanivien laughs at that; the mirth just stokes the white-hot flame that's started to burn in his belly. "As a man, I'm dismayed. As an inventor … I'm intrigued." 

Her expression could induce madness - that incredulous half smile, as if she can't believe she's having this conversation, lips slightly parted and cheeks colored a brilliant pink. Gods above, it takes all of his self control not to lift her again until she wraps her legs around him so he can kiss her senseless. "Hilda says there's a man who smuggles certain kinds of toys in from Ul'dah," she says. "Apparently some nobles are crazy for them. She prom-" And then Joye shuts her mouth, her eyes darting away from his face. 

Oh. Now  _ that? _ That was a challenge if he ever heard one. "What, we're lining the pockets of some Syndicate merchant instead of producing the goods ourselves? What is Ishgard coming to?" When she glances back up at him, he gives her a wink. "I'll have to ponder this."

"You do that, my lord." 

"Really? After this conversation, that's what you're sticking with?"

"As always," she retorts, finally sliding away from him. But once she's far enough away that he can no longer feel the heat of her body, she turns back, still smiling, "You're a strange one, that's for sure."

It sounds like a compliment, so Stephanivien chooses to take it as such. He watches her walk toward the door, but calls out just before she reaches for the knob. "Joye?"

She turns her head. "Yes?"

"If I do make a … prototype of something, would you test it for me? Given that I obviously cannot do so myself," he adds when her eyes widen.

Time seems to stop for a moment, before she nods, a soft giggle escaping on an exhale. "Maybe. Maybe I might." 

Then she flees, and he goes to rummage around his desk for fresh paper and charcoal. By the Twelve, does he have some designing to do. 


	5. Magic Use

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> f!WoL/Urianger. Blame the overhealing kink on the book club.

Maybe, she thinks, it's something about the First. Or maybe it's whatever nonsense Il Mheg has to offer. Perhaps it's something to do with Urianger's particular new brand of magic. Maybe all three? There's no way to know, and no way to form any coherent thoughts right now other than  _ fuck don't let him heal me again I can't have an orgasm in front of everyone.  _

This is a difficult ask right now, as she's limping her way out of yet another fight. The wound in her side will heal fine, if given a few hours to use her own very limited healing ability - which does not, in fact, send uncontrollable shudders of pleasure through her body, which makes it infinitely preferable to Urianger's magic in this moment. So when he reaches for her, she flinches away, and tries not to notice the concern written on his face. "I'm  _ fine _ ," she snarls. 

"The blood on thy shirt wouldst indicate otherwise."

"It's nothing, I can heal it myself." 

He looks confused - and vaguely hurt - but she can't explain any further; not in front of the others, and not without humiliating herself entirely. And fuck, she can't even look at him without her body reacting to the lingering magic that still dances over her skin, making her feel as if she's burning with fever. 

She moves as if to continue on their path, but stumbles on her first step, the pain in her side powerful enough to make her see stars. Urianger reaches for her, and she withdraws again, but this time looks up at him. "Not here," she whispers. "Please not here, back at your house, but not here." 

He's clearly confused, but nods. "Very well." 

She doesn't hear the excuses he makes to their friends, she's too busy steeling herself against the feeling of his arm winding around her. She needs the support, yes, but it takes every bit of concentration for her not to turn and rub herself against him like a cat in heat. He's warm and so solid and smells good and if he casts one more spell to relieve her pain she's going to come from nothing more than his touch on her shoulder. 

The walk is excruciating, but finally they make it back to privacy - or whatever passes for it in Il Mheg, she doesn't care as long as their friends don't see her make a fool of herself. She collapses into the first chair she finds, and a moment later, Urianger kneels next to her. "What is wrong?" he asks softly.

Gods, to admit it - she's not sure if she's burning up from the desire or the humiliation. "Your magic. It's doing something odd to me. Something … sexual." The last word is whispered, as she closes her eyes to avoid the shame.

"Ah." The sound is little more than an exhalation, and then he's silent for a long moment. When she feels his fingers lightly brush her chin, her eyes open to see him studying her. "I have heard of such things, though the reaction is rare. It is usually caused by the resonance of aether between two individuals and the …" And now, to her surprise, Urianger blushes. "There is a theory," he says, voice low enough to make her belly flip, "that the resonance of aether between two individuals who desire each other can create a mutable effect. Normally this is of no consequence, but when outside factors …" He trails off into a chuckle. Fuck, his laugh does things to her in normal circumstances, but right now it feels like phantom fingers caressing the most intimate parts of her. "There are multiple studies on the topic, but that discussion is for another day. Right now, my focus is entirely on how to relieve thy pain, and thy … need, if thou should desire it." 

Her head is spinning. She's pretty sure he just admitted he wants her as much as she wants him, and there was something about aether and magic and … "Please," is all she can manage to say. 

Whatever she expects to happen next, it's not for him to sweep her into his arms and carry her up the stairs. The renewed pain in her side makes her wince, but the sensation is overshadowed by the bolt of desire that runs through her. The sensations have obviously destroyed her verbal filter, because she hears herself ask, "You want me?"

"Always and constantly," he responds, carrying her into what is clearly his bedroom and setting her down gently on the bed. 

Under normal circumstances, there'd be so many other things to say. But right now, her mind can't focus on anything but the physical. "Then touch me?" Her voice is close to begging, but she feels less embarrassed by it when she sees the look on his face.

"Healing first," he insists. "Remove thy shirt, so I can see if the wound wants for cleaning."

Suddenly, she can't comply fast enough. And once the shirt is gone, she gives in to the way clothing seems to chafe at her skin and tugs off her breast band as well. The intake of breath she hears as her breasts are bared is entirely satisfying. "Thee maketh it hard to concentrate," he mutters. 

Before she can respond, she feels a small burst of magic flow into her side, and every nerve in her body reacts. Instinctively, she wants to fight against the pleasure, but in this private setting she forces herself to relax and simply experience it. And  _ oh _ , the pain gives way to a tingling that travels straight to her core. It feels like a million tiny fingers dancing along her skin, their touch lanced with heat and lightning. The sensations that induced panic in the middle of combat now tear a moan of pure pleasure from her throat. No healing magic has  _ ever  _ felt like this before. 

"More," Urianger growls, and another wave of magic hits her, this one stronger than the last. Her wound is closed, she knows - if she looked down, she knows she would see unblemished skin all the way down her side - so there is no reason for this assault than her continued stimulation. She has no defense against it, no recourse but to gasp and scramble at the waistband of her trousers. Her smalls are too tight, sticking to her where she's now wet and needy, this will feel so much better if she's naked she knows it she needs it … 

Once the last of her clothing is kicked away, Urianger wraps a large hand around her thigh and casts yet another spell. The magic pours into her again, this time so close to her core that she comes almost immediately. It's such a strange rush, to peak without any touch between her legs, just magic and fingers gripping her inner thigh. 

When she collapses back onto the bed, she turns her head to see him watching her with eyes that have barely a ring of gold lining the edges. His heavy gaze prompts a giggle, as she reaches out to him. "Come here?"

Urianger gives her a slow smile, one that feels almost as electric as his magic. "Ah, but I still have a surfeit of mana."

She wonders, as the next wave of magic hits her, how many orgasms she can have before his mana is gone.

She expects she'll find out.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this prompt list](https://msviolacea.tumblr.com/post/630798400080740352/im-a-weirdo-so-once-i-made-my-own-kinktober-list). 
> 
> As always, love to Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched Book Club for enabling me. [Join us](https://discord.gg/SjZf6RCkba) for all the FFXIV fanfic nonsense you could ever want!


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